


safe in here with me

by thechaoscryptid



Series: Catharsis [39]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Abusive Miklan (Fire Emblem), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Consensual Underage Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Feels, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Sylvain Jose Gautier Needs A Hug, Trans Sylvain Jose Gautier, Trust, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechaoscryptid/pseuds/thechaoscryptid
Summary: “You don’t have to keep saving me, Fe.”“I fuckingwantto, okay?” Felix puts both hands over his face and curls into the fetal position, effectively trapping Sylvain’s arm and therefore Sylvain in place. “Fuck, I want you to behappy,Syl; I want you to besafe.”He lets out a soft whimper, the sort that’s always meant he’s biting back tears. “I want...I wantyou,and when you’re left with him, I’m always waiting for the call he went too far and you’re in the hospital or worse, you’re--”Sylvain buries his face in Felix’s hood, but not quick enough to miss thedeadthat splinters the single, heavy beat of silence. “I…” he begins, words sticking on his tongue as Felix begins to shake in his arms. “I’ll stay, then.”“Here.”“Yeah.”
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Catharsis [39]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1114704
Comments: 1
Kudos: 55





	safe in here with me

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write out a long disclaimer explaining decisions but I'll just leave it at this: the events in this fic are largely inspired by and adapted from personal experience, so please don't pick at the sex stuff/abuse/etc. Thank you ❤️
> 
> Felix is 16 and Sylvain's ~18, and neutral/fem descriptors are used for Sylvain’s bits. The title is from Halestorm's [In Your Room](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vOr3GNDeThU) which is just kinda my forever Sylvain mood
> 
> Thanks Jupe and Magnus for the look-over!

The Fraldarius house has always been a quiet, somber place.  Stone and wood meld together under shadow and the weight of words left unspoken, and Sylvain wonders if the light pooling through the southern windows has ever made things cheerier .  It falls across the area rug and furniture, harsh and cold, before fading in front of the kitchen .

He crosses his arms and tucks them tight against his stomach, shoulders hunched against the chill as he listens to Felix muttering and banging the bathroom cabinet shut . It’s not like he can make much out of the noise, but it doesn’t matter. He’s heard it all before.

_ You should hit him back sometime. _

_ Fight dirty. _

_ When are you going to admit this is a problem? _

Sylvain closes his eyes when the door clicks shut so he doesn’t have to see whatever look’s falling across Felix’s face. He’s not sure he could handle any of them. Felix’s anger is too harsh, his tears too painful, and his pity…

Goddess, if Sylvain’s gotten to the point where Felix looks at him with pity, he might as well give up immediately.

“Syl,” Felix says, and Sylvain  _ tries  _ not to flinch when strong fingers brush against the tender spot on his jaw. His ribs creak with the effort of holding his breath as Felix tips his face to the side for a better look.

“You don’t have to say it,” he whispers  hoarsely .

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Sylvain holds up a hand, ticking off on his fingers. “You’re old enough to defend yourself. I taught you how to fight back. Haven’t you—”

“I  _ said  _ I wasn’t going to say anything.”  Felix closes his free hand around Sylvain’s and brings it to his chest, cradled close as he continues to inspect Sylvain’s face .  It’s one of the things Sylvain’s getting used to in this shift from friends to more—Felix no longer hesitates to reach out and take what he wants, and for the first time in Sylvain’s life, that’s a  _ welcome  _ thing .

He doesn’t realize he’s biting down on his lip until Felix thumbs  gently at it, coaxing it out from between his teeth with a soft noise of concern .

“Don’t hurt yourself worse,” Felix says.

“I wouldn’t even come close to his level,” Sylvain says  automatically , and then he winces at how  easily the admissions slip out when they’re alone together . “Sorry.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please?”  The question hangs heavy between them, whisper-quiet and filled with an ache that makes Sylvain want to let loose the tears that have been pricking at his eyes since he fled the house . Felix opens his mouth. Snaps it shut. Leans in, threading his fingers through Sylvain’s hair as their sighs mingle. “You don’t even have to smile for me.”

Sylvain clenches his fists in his lap and grits his jaw, hissing as pain blooms out from the spot Miklan first clocked him . “I don’t want to.”

“Okay, then,” Felix acquiesces.  He’s silent as he cleans the blood from Sylvain’s nose, feeling for any sign of a break before brushing the hair away from Sylvain’s forehead to get a glimpse of the bruise forming from where his head hit the wall .

There’s a few questions here and there about the extent of his injuries, but for the most part, Felix lets Sylvain soak in the quiet . He’s equal parts relieved and distressed; the fact there’s little to distract him is a blessing and a curse.  Under Felix’s touch he allows himself to relax until he’s doing little more than slumping against Felix, head pillowed on his shoulder .  And soon, as it has all the times before, the touch becomes a steady warmth as he finishes and lays one hand on Sylvain’s thigh, the other on his forearm .

“Do you want some jerky?” he asks, drawing a short laugh out of Sylvain as he finally opens his eyes.

“I swear, that’s all you think about,” he mumbles. Then, “Something softer,  maybe .”

“There’s some canned peaches in the pantry.”

“That’s fine,” Sylvain says. He tugs Felix forward, off the ottoman and into his lap as he wraps his arms around him. “Sorry for showing up out of the blue,” he continues, face buried in the crook of Felix’s neck. “I know you had things to do.”

Felix pats his back, because...well, Felix has always had a limit on how much energy can  be allocated to comforting someone, and even Sylvain’s bound by those constraints . “They can wait,” he says. “I’m gonna—”

Sylvain lets him go as he jerks a thumb toward the kitchen and grabs a spare throw pillow to hang onto instead.  The shadows on the carpet grow longer by the minute until Felix makes his way back, sitting down with a bowl in one hand and a bag in the other .

“Here,” he says, and a fork clicks against glass as he shoves the bowl into Sylvain’s hands. “Do you want to watch something?”

“Sure.”

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sylvain says, because most of what Felix watches isn’t his taste.  Whatever’s on the screen comes second to the man beside him anyway, and he doesn’t mind listening to clashing swords and poorly-acted screaming . He sets the pillow down and pulls his feet up under him. When Felix looks at him, about to argue, he says, “I don’t want to make a decision, Fe. I  just ...please don’t make me.”

“Oh.”  Felix blinks, tucks his chin to his chest with brow furrowed in thought, and fishes around in the bag for a piece of jerky to gnaw on as he considers .

Sylvain watches as the wind picks up outside, snow sliding off pine boughs and empty elm branches swaying with the force of it . He takes a bite, then a breath. Sinks deeper into the couch. Pulls his head down into his shoulders.  Chews, swallows, does it all again as Felix wakes up the TV and flicks through Netflix .

“Um, here,” Felix says when he picks something Sylvain’s never heard of.  He gets up and yanks the blanket off of the chair to his left to drape it over Sylvain’s shoulders,  narrowly missing dipping the corners in the bowl . When Sylvain looks, he shrugs. “You look cold.”

Sylvain makes a noncommittal noise and pulls the blanket tighter around him as the movie begins . It’s unfair, putting this on Felix.  It’s unfair putting it on  _ anyone,  _ especially when it’s his fault, and he stares down at the syrup-coated fruit until the bowl holds nothing more than an orange blur . He’s not sure how long they sit there like that, Felix glancing over as Sylvain wills the tears not to fall.

Tears have never done him any good.

Without speaking, Felix inches over and takes the bowl before Sylvain’s worthless, trembling hands can upend it onto the carpet .

“I was eating those,” he says  numbly .

“You haven’t touched them,” Felix says, and Sylvain’s lower lip quivers as he swallows down the bitterness that rises at the careful evenness of the words .

“Shut up,” he says.

Felix takes a deep breath. “Stay here tonight,” he says, instead of any of the incendiary remarks Sylvain’s sure are ready on his tongue. “Don’t go home.”  Hesitantly , he reaches to brush his fingers against Sylvain’s. When Sylvain makes no move, Felix takes his hand. “Dad won’t care.”

“You’re going to make me even if I protest, aren’t you?” Sylvain says. He’s not mad about the fact, even hopes Felix sees it in his eyes.

Felix nods.

“Okay.”  Sylvain’s fingers flex against Felix’s to the backdrop of yelling and clanging on the TV, trying for a smile and failing as Felix pulls him into his arms . It’s funny, he thinks, that their roles are so backwards these days—Felix hasn’t come to him sniffling in years now, but he’s been on the Fraldarius couch too often these past few months.

It’s Felix who pets Sylvain’s hair now, whose clothes fall victim as the last vestiges of Sylvain’s self control are  tenderly swept away along with his bangs . It starts with one tear carving its way down Sylvain’s cheek, hot and shameful. He watches as the stain spreads through the fibers, then watches again, and again until he can’t see at all.

Shaking with silent sobs, he turns around and clutches at Felix’s sweatshirt, buries his face in Felix’s stomach  just so the world isn’t so wide anymore . Through it all, Felix continues to smooth a hand across his shoulders, sighing every so often.

When at long last all his tears have run dry, he begins to drift.  The TV fades to the sound of his heartbeat in his ears and the blunt scratch of Felix’s nails through his hair, over his shirt that’s still covered in blood .  At some point, the front door opens and slams shut, and Sylvain flinches as Felix hisses at his father  _ Be quiet, he’s resting _ _. _

“Who?” Rodrigue asks as he draws forward. Then,  softly as his hand joins Felix’s on Sylvain’s shoulder, “Oh.”

“Yeah,  _ oh,”  _ Felix says.

Sylvain buries his face further into Felix’s lap so Rodrigue doesn’t see too much bruising. “Hey, sir.”

“I’ll leave you two be for now,” Rodrigue says. “We can talk about it later.”  He rubs a circle into Sylvain’s back that makes Sylvain want to cry again— _ his  _ parents would never be so kind—and retreats up the stairs to his office .

When Sylvain looks up, Felix has his lip between his teeth and eyes averted. “I tell him not to be so loud,” he says. “Sorry.”

“I’m  just jumpy,” Sylvain says, and a storm wages in Felix’s eyes as disgust flickers across his face, then falls away.

“We should move,” Felix says. “To my room.”

“What, you don’t like being a pillow?”  Sylvain asks,  lightly shoving at Felix’s legs before propping himself up and scrubbing both hands over his face . “That’s fine.”

“Shower?”

Sylvain sighs. “Yeah.  I feel …”

_ Disgusting. _

_ Weak. _

_ Pathetic. _

“I’ll go get a towel,” Felix says when Sylvain can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “Come on.”  He unfolds himself and offers a hand, tugging Sylvain forward through the nearly-night that shrouds the room . “Do you need help? You said he, um—” He points to his own ribs, looking up  questioningly .

Sylvain can  absolutely undress himself, but he holds out his arms anyway. “Please,” he whispers.

Felix tugs the shirt over Sylvain’s head, then the binder after Sylvain assures him that’s okay, too.  He turns Sylvain to the side to get a look at the place Miklan kicked him, making sure there’s nothing out of place as he tells Sylvain to take a few breaths . “I hate him,” he says. “Even if you can’t.”

“Fe—”

“You don’t deserve it,” Felix blurts. “You’re not some—some... _ thing.  _ He can’t  just —”

“Felix.” Sylvain cups his jaw with one hand and draws him closer. “Tell me about it some other time.”

Shoving his face into Sylvain’s palm, Felix lets all his breath go in one huff. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Felix mumbles, “but thanks.” He knits his fingers with Sylvain’s and presses his lips to Sylvain’s wrist before  slowly hugging him. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t look down to where Sylvain’s chest rests against his. His eyes flutter shut, lashes soft against the hollow of Sylvain’s collarbone. “I’ll go find some clothes,” he says. “Go on.”

“Thank you.”  Sylvain kisses Felix’s forehead before stepping out of his embrace and turning the shower on to the hottest setting .  He doesn’t bother waiting for Felix to shut the door before he’s stripping out of his pants and stepping in, letting the water sluice over old wounds and new .

For a while he  just stands there, wrung. A vast plain of emptiness spans before his mind’s eye, not even a glimmer of light to guide him.  He feels as though he’s swaying,  being pulled to and fro by an invisible tide, and his eyes snap open to make sure he’s not having a delayed reaction to Miklan’s blows .

Thankfully, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“Fuck,” he whispers, leaning forward to prop himself against the wall with one hand. The other prods at his ribs, and he winces when he presses too hard.  At least this time nothing broke—though that’s more likely due to the fact Miklan wants nothing to do with taking him to a hospital .  Broken bones are much harder to tend than a few lumps and bruises, especially when no one else is going to be home for another week .

He aches as he turns and begins to clean himself, double checking Felix’s work before he washes his hair. With the water pounding on him and the scent of Felix’s products all around him, a smile flits across his face. 

It’s gone in the next instant, but it’s  _ something,  _ at least.

The door opens and shuts  quickly , and Sylvain peers around the curtain to see a towel and new clothes heaped on the floor by the heat vent .

Another smile.

He stays in the shower a long time, l ong enough for his fingers to prune and for the ice at the base of his spine to melt. When he pounds down the basement stairs to Felix’s room, he raps on the door . “Fe?”

“‘S open,” Felix says.

Sylvain opens the door to the sight of him shoved into the corner of his bed, balled up in a sweatshirt and looking up with reddened eyes . “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t give me that look. Get over here,” Felix says, patting the bed next to him.

“I’m not giving you a look,” Sylvain says.

Felix narrows his eyes.

Sylvain glances over at the clock on the nightstand.  It’s too early to go to bed, but Felix leans hard into Sylvain when he sits down, so Sylvain flops  dramatically to the mattress . “Tuck me in,” he says. He wraps his fingers around Felix’s wrist and tugs him to lay beside him, then tries for a smile. “Hey, I’m still here, right?”

Looking away, Felix nods once,  jerkily .

“What’s wrong?”

“Seeing you hurt hurts me,” Felix mumbles. He turns around and shuffles back so his back is against Sylvain’s chest, Sylvain’s arm tucked over his stomach.  His chest rises and falls  slowly under Sylvain’s curled fingers, and in the dim quiet of the basement, Sylvain can hear every crackling inhale .

The sound shifts something deep within him, travels down an invisible fault line in his heart of hearts and wrenches free words he’s never actually spoken out loud .

“I don’t know how much more I can take,” he says, clutching at Felix’s sweatshirt. “I want to leave.”

“Glenn’s room is open,” Felix says.

“You don’t have to keep saving me, Fe.”

“I fucking  _ want  _ to, okay?”  Felix puts both hands over his face and curls into the fetal position, trapping Sylvain’s arm and  therefore Sylvain in place . “Fuck, I want you to be  _ happy,  _ Syl; I want you to be  _ safe.”  _ He lets out a soft whimper, the sort that’s always meant he’s biting back tears.  “I want...I want  _ you,  _ and when you’re left with him, I’m always waiting for the call he went too far and you’re in the hospital or worse, you’re—”

Sylvain buries his face in Felix’s hood, but not quick enough to miss the  _ dead  _ that splinters the single, heavy beat of silence . “I…” he begins, words sticking on his tongue as Felix begins to shake in his arms. “I’ll stay.”

“Here.”

“Yeah.” Sylvain pulls Felix closer, rests his lips  just below Felix’s ear. It’s not even a kiss; there’s nothing more to it than the movement.  “Please don’t cry,” he breathes  softly , wiping his thumb across Felix’s wet cheek even as Felix tries to bury his face in the pillow . “I’m so sorry, Felix.”

When Felix gives up hiding and cranes his head back, his eyes shine in that way that’s always pierced Sylvain straight through . “So prove it,” he says, voice thick. “Don’t make an empty promise.”

“I won’t.” Sylvain extricates himself enough to press up on an elbow, free hand cradling Felix’s jaw as he looks down. “Hey,” he murmurs, and Felix sets his lips in a trembling line. “Look at me. Am I lying?”

Felix gauges the look on Sylvain’s face and must find it satisfactory, because he finally says, “No.”

“Sleep on it with me?” Sylvain asks, and when Felix gears up to protest, he amends. “I mean, the decision’s made but I just—we’re both...upset,” he says. “And I’m kinda tired, okay?”

“Okay.”  Felix swallows hard and slides a hand up Sylvain’s arm to rest on his shoulder, then against his cheek as he leans up and pauses a hair’s breadth from Sylvain’s lips . “Can I?”

“Please.”

For all his anger and brashness, Felix has learned how to be soft where required. He kisses Sylvain  slowly , careful not to jostle his nose or let his hands roam. His lips, though bitten and torn, pillow against Sylvain’s as they share one breath, then another.  He drinks in the groan Sylvain can’t help at the feeling of teeth gentle on his lower lip, and when Sylvain deepens the kiss, Felix lets him go at his own pace .

“Don’t let me go,” Sylvain says when he’s had his fill.

“Didn’t you tell me I couldn’t get rid of you if I tried?”  Felix asks, a hint of a true smile on his lips as they fall to rest facing each other, knees knocking as their feet tangle under the blanket .

“There was that, yeah,” Sylvain says.

Felix huffs a laugh before looking down and sobering with a slight grimace. “I can wash your binder for you.”

“Are you uncomfortable?” Sylvain asks, and Felix shakes his head.

“You  just never have it off around me,” he says. “Are  _ you  _ uncomfortable?”

Sylvain shakes his head in return before tangling their fingers together on the sheets between them . Then, grinning, he asks, “Wanna see?”

Felix chokes  inelegantly , coming very close to headbutting Sylvain’s chest as he jackknifes forward . “You dick,” he wheezes. “I was trying to be  _ nice.” _

“All right, all right,” Sylvain drawls, rolling onto his back only to have Felix plaster himself to his side. “Going to survive?”

“Terrible way to die, choking,” Felix retorts. “I’m going in a blaze of glory, not because you surprised me.”

“I’m sure,” Sylvain says.  He arranges Felix until they’re tangled in one another, Felix’s head tucked under his chin and their limbs a knot of warmth and affection .  Sliding his hand between Felix’s sweatshirt and tee, he shuts his eyes and focuses on the steady beat of Felix’s pulse .

Exhaustion catches up to him  quickly .  One second he’s stroking Felix’s hair and the next he’s waking up, bleary and disoriented as he wonders exactly when he rearranged the furniture in his room . Then Felix snores,  _ loudly _ _ , _ and the events of the past day come crashing through the fog.

He looks over to the red numbers glowing in the dark.

Midnight.

He could probably leave. Probably _should._ Halfway _wants_ to, so he can lick what remains of his wounds in private, but then he feels Felix nuzzle against the arm he’s latched on to. Felix, who’s offered so much of himself—

Sylvain can’t break his heart again.

He can,  however , go upstairs and raid the fridge, because the knots in his stomach aren’t all from waking up surrounded by Felix . With the utmost care not to wake him, Sylvain gets up and pads out of the room and up the stairs. He’s poured himself a bowl of cereal and is about to take the first bite when the hair on the back of his neck stands up.

“Looks like you took one hell of a beating,” Rodrigue says from the door, leaning against the frame in a robe and pajamas .

Sylvain cringes. “Sorry if I woke you. I haven’t eaten.”

“You might’ve, if I’d been sleeping.”  Rodrigue moves to sit on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, motioning for Sylvain to pass him the cereal and a bowl . “I haven’t called your parents,” he says as he pours, “if you’re worried about that.”

“I’m sure Miklan’s got an excuse ready anyway,” Sylvain says. He sits two chairs down and pokes at the flakes before taking several large bites. “Felix asked me to stay.”

“The night?”

“Forever,” Sylvain says. “Or, well, a while.”

Rodrigue takes a bite of his own and stares out the window, chewing as Sylvain’s heart squeezes with both anxiety and anticipation . “Have  _ you  _ ever told your parents?” he finally asks, and Sylvain’s cracked  _ no  _ is the most pathetic sound he’s ever made. “Oh, Sylvain,” Rodrigue says  sadly , and Sylvain’s a goner all over again.

He struggles to keep his composure as he spills details he’s never even dared to bring up with Felix; the breaks and bruises come easy, but he weeps in earnest when he tells the other man about all the times Miklan’s done far worse .

“I was  _ eleven  _ the first time,” he says. The spoon drops to the counter with a metallic clatter. “Who  _ does  _ that? What gave him the right?”

“Hey, hey,” Rodrigue soothes. “You don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

Sylvain buries his face in his hands. “Please let me stay," he whispers  wetly . “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t live there.”

“Consider it done,” Rodrigue says. “We can take care of the  particulars in the morning, but for now, is there anything you need? Something I can do?”

Sniffling, Sylvain shrugs. “A better family?” he jokes, but it falls flat.  He takes a deep breath, pulling up his shirt to wipe his face before he tips his head back to stare at the ceiling, then attacks his cereal again . “I  just need things to change,” he settles on, “and  I think getting out of the house is enough for now. For tonight, at least.  Maybe the week.”

“Okay,” Rodrigue says. Then,  awkwardly extending a hand to pat Sylvain’s shoulder, “Stay as long as you need. Felix loves you, and losing you so soon after…” He pauses, takes a deep, shaky breath as  _ Glenn  _ goes unspoken. He clears his throat. “Well.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain says.  He drains the bowl and takes Rodrigue’s on the way, rinsing them in the sink before  dutifully putting everything in its place .

“Sylvain?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to be all right tonight?” Rodrigue asks.

Sylvain sighs and leans back against the counter, assessing the aches and pains once more. “I’ll live,” he says.

“Don’t hurt him,” Rodrigue says, quiet enough it almost sounds like an afterthought as Sylvain starts back toward the basement stairs .  There’s no malice or anger, no threat, and Sylvain  nearly doesn’t acknowledge it before he glances back to see the other man with his head in his hands . “Please.”

“I won’t,” he says. “Not anymore.”  When Rodrigue nods, Sylvain skirts around the breakfast bar and makes his way back down the stairs only to  be greeted by Felix leaning  exhaustedly against his door . “Fe?”

“I thought you’d left.”  Felix pads forward and wraps his arms around Sylvain, squeezes in a wholly uninhibited way that makes Sylvain’s heart skip a beat . “Then I heard you talking.”

Sylvain plunges from warm to shivering at that, icy dread creeping through him at the thought that  maybe Felix learned more than he  was supposed to . “What’d you hear?” he asks, keeping his voice  carefully neutral.

“I didn’t listen.” Felix begins tugging Sylvain back toward the bedroom, making no move to step out of the hug. “ Just didn’t want you to leave.”

“Well, I’m here,” Sylvain murmurs, “and I’m staying for now. Okay?”

Felix clings to him still as they fall back onto the bed, Sylvain’s hips bracketing Felix’s thighs as Felix squirms under him . “Kiss,” he says when Sylvain tells him to cool it.

“You’re sweet when you’re tired, have I ever told you that?” Sylvain says. He nuzzles into Felix’s neck before pressing his lips,  slightly parted, to the hollow of Felix’s throat. “Fucking adorable.”

“Not like tha- _ aat,”  _ Felix sighs, arching his chest up as Sylvain nibbles on his collarbone. His hands scrabble on Sylvain’s shoulder as he bites back a whimper. “Mouth, on my lips, or you’re going to be an uncomfortable little s—spoon.”

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” Sylvain whispers, lips brushing against Felix’s ear. “Hm?”

Felix moves his hands to Sylvain’s hips, fingers chilled on the strip of bare skin revealed by his ridden-up shirt. “Are you  just teasing, or do you want to?” he asks, much more  lucidly as he presses Sylvain back an inch. “We can, we can,  _ ah… _ ”

Leaning down to give Felix what he wants, Sylvain kisses him  deeply . “Please,” he whispers when he pulls away.

Felix chases after him for a split second, lips brushing over Sylvain’s chin and jaw and making him feel so wanted it  _ hurts _ _.  _ He’s half-hard already, cock brushing against Sylvain’s ass even as Sylvain can feel him working not to go too hard, too fast . “What do you want?” he manages. “From me, I mean. How—”

“Your hands?” Sylvain suggests.

“Yeah,” Felix breathes. His fingers splay across the curve of Sylvain’s ass, digging in as Sylvain rocks down onto him. “Mngh~”

“Here, hang on.”  Sylvain slides off and shuffles out of his borrowed sweatpants, then tugs Felix’s hand to the hem of his shirt, hesitant . “You can take it off if you want.”

There’s reverence in the way Felix’s fingers skim over Sylvain’s sides as he pushes the tee up, up, and over Sylvain’s head as Sylvain helps . They sit, silent, until Felix reaches for him once again.  His knuckles brush against a ticklish spot on Sylvain’s stomach, and Sylvain squirms, stifling a giggle .

“What?” Felix asks.

“Up or down,” Sylvain says. “Ticklish.”

Felix pokes the spot before sliding over to cover Sylvain and kissing away the disgruntled protest on Sylvain’s tongue .  Slowly and  steadily , with ample time for Sylvain to put a stop to it, his left hand trails from Sylvain’s hip to chest to cup a breast, rubbing his thumb over Sylvain’s nipple . “Okay?” he asks.

Sylvain arches into the touch as his skin pebbles, biting back a quiet whine as he nods. “Feels good.”

Mouthing down Sylvain’s throat, Felix continues to tease until Sylvain’s slick and aching for more than empty space between his thighs .  Felix hangs thick against him and lets all his breath out in a huff when Sylvain cups him through the fabric of his sweats . “Off?”

“Off,” Sylvain confirms, tugging on the waist.

Felix throws them into the corner along with his sweatshirt and immediately sets upon Sylvain again, hitching a leg up over his shoulder as he sits back and dips a single, cool finger between Sylvain’s folds. “Goddess,” he murmurs. “You really _did_ like it.”

“I  just didn’t know if you wanted...that…” Sylvain says, covering his face with an arm as Felix presses calloused fingers against his clit . “Fuck, Fe~”

“Fuck off,” Felix says  fondly . He presses his lips to Sylvain’s ankle, breath washing warm down his calf as Sylvain rocks into his hand. “I like whatever shape you come in.”

“So I can return to my true lizard form?” Sylvain says. “Oh, thank the goddess, this human suit is—”

“Hilarious,” Felix drones. “Pinnacle of comedy.”

“I like to think so— _ oh,”  _ Sylvain sighs. He clamps down around Felix’s fingers as they enter him, groans as Felix ruts against the back of his thigh. “I can—let me—”

“I want to do this for you,” Felix says. “Let  _ me.” _

Sylvain lets out a quite  frankly pathetic mewl at the insistence, and at the way Felix tells him to do what he wants to feel good . “Touch me again,” he says. “Here.”

Felix lets Sylvain’s leg fall to the side as Sylvain pulls him forward, guiding Felix’s face to his chest.  In the sliver of light shining in through the basement window, his eyes are luminous as they search Sylvain’s face for any hesitation as he takes a pebbled bud between his lips . He swipes his tongue across at the same time he makes a pass over Sylvain’s clit again, and Sylvain  _ keens. _

“Again, do it again, Felix,  _ Goddess—”  _ He reaches between them to rub himself, the slick sound of Felix’s fingers and the roughness of their panting the sweetest noises as his brow knits in pleasure .  _ “Fe.” _

“You’re so good,” Felix mumbles.  His hips cant forward, smearing wetness against Sylvain’s thigh, and he captures Sylvain’s mouth in a sloppy kiss as familiar tension begins to spiral through Sylvain’s limbs . 

His orgasm pulses through him in waves, and as he feels Felix spill across the junction of his thigh, he can’t help the way tears spring unbidden to his eyes for the third damned time tonight . They’re no longer tears of anger, or of upset; Felix’s feelings  just bring it out in him, it seems.

Felix, who sits back looking  _ mortified  _ as Sylvain clicks on the lamp on the nightstand. “I didn’t mean to,” he says, gesturing to the come pooling on Sylvain’s skin. “I was going to—I’ll get a washcloth.”  He’s scrambling out of the tangled blankets and out the door to the half-bath before Sylvain can tell him to wait, and  thankfully his face is a less-alarming shade of red when he walks back in, damp cloth in hand .

He doesn’t meet Sylvain’s eyes until he’s finished cleaning him.  Even then, there’s a world of thoughts Sylvain can’t even begin to untangle as he watches Felix leave and return again .

“You all right?” he asks when they’re tucked back in bed, his head pillowed on Felix’s shoulder.

“Mhm.”

“You sure?” Sylvain reaches up to tilt Felix’s eyes to his.

“I  just wasn’t expecting —” Felix gestures to his chest, and understanding dawns on Sylvain. “And I don’t know how to feel about the fact I liked it.”

Sylvain hums. “Want me to put a shirt on again?”

Felix sighs and stuffs his face into both hands, hiding away. “Does that make you feel bad?” he asks instead of answering. “I don’t want to make it weird.”

“Felix. Hey. Fe.” Sylvain tugs his hands down and looks deep into his eyes. “You remember back when we were younger and you thought that you had mind control powers?”

“You can’t prove otherwise,” Felix grumbles.

“I watched you try convincing Dimitri that he was going to  willingly do your bidding for a week,” Sylvain says.

“What of it?”

“I’m still here after  _ that,  _ aren’t I?” Sylvain says. “After  _ all  _ the weird shit I’ve seen you do—”

“Okay, okay,” Felix says in a rush. “It is  _ way  _ too early to  be reminded of my sins.”

“Point is, we’ll figure it out,” Sylvain murmurs into his throat. “Now, do you want to go back to sleep with me, or are you going to sit up worrying until the sun rises?”

“I wouldn’t,” Felix protests, yawning as he does so. He sinks further into the mattress and rests his chin against the crown of Sylvain’s head. “You’ll be here when I wake up?”

“Promise,” Sylvain says  softly . “For  however long you want me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I see and appreciate all your comments, and even if it takes a while, I do my best to get back to them <3 You can also find me lurking and yelling about fictional characters on:
> 
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